Page 31 of City Of Thieves

“Not particularly.”

Oh, that spiky sarcastic bomb of a New Jersey accent. Is there anything more infuriating?

He shoots me the kind of look designed to annihilate my self-confidence.If I had any left.“Well?”

“It was my assistant. I have a buyer interested in one of my paintings.”

He digests this for a moment. “Don’t you get bored of selling hyped-up graffiti for a living?”

“Don’t you get bored being an ignorant jackass?” I mutter, peering out at the narrow Soho streets through the car’s shattered windows.

This city is a gray monster without sunshine. Even the colorful shop awnings look lifeless and dull. The last time I was here, I was with my parents. I was ten years old, and everything was still warm and fuzzy.

“Where are we going?”

“Boutique hotel off Wardour Street. It’s quiet and discreet.”

“A perfect love nest for you and your blonde flight attendant,” I say acidly, but he doesn’t respond.

The hotel is charming, with pink and green explosions of bougainvillea dripping from a smart red brick façade. It’s so unlike Marchesi’s subtle-as-a-sledgehammer personality that I start to see Piper in a whole new light.

“Disappointed it’s not The Dorchester?” he snipes, misreading my expression as he swings the wreck of his car up to the white stone steps.

“On the contrary, I’m just relieved it’s not a two-star at the wrong end of Charing Cross.”

If the valet notices the bullet holes, he doesn’t comment as Marchesi tosses him the keys. “Lose it,” I hear him say. “Killian’s delivering another.”

“Yes, Mr. Marchesi.”

“Do you know that man?” I ask, as we enter the lobby together.

“I know everyone who’s worth knowing.” He’s staring straight ahead, giving me that killer profile that’s as strong and unyielding as a Greek statue. “Wecriminalsare only six degrees of separation from each other, and we’re only ever one bullet away from the truth.” He shoots me a sideways glance as he slaps his AmEx Black down on the front desk.

Two key cards are produced immediately without further ID or questions.

“Thank you, beautiful.”

“I know you don’t believe me,” I say, peeling away from the swooning receptionist. “But that car chase hadnothingto do with me.”

He doesn’t say a word as we step into the elevator together, but as soon as the carriage starts to rise, he holds out one of the key cards, wearing that poker-face expression of his.

“Whoever was behind it,dolcezza, isn’t done with us yet… And if they were trying to kill usboth, that means we’re in this shit together.”

We’re in this shit together...

Those words are like a cluster bomb going off in my head. I’ve been forced to live a life of isolation for so long it feels strange to find myself inanythingwith another person, regardless of how dangerous he is.

“Is that a veiled apology for holding a gun to my head?” Taking the key card, I ignore the weird jolt of electricity as our fingers touch.

“It’s a veiled warning that I’ll probably do it again at some point.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

The corners of his mouth twist. “You have no idea.”

Fortunately, the doors spring open then, revealing an interior designer’s pastel dream. He hangs back for once, letting me exit first. Our suites are right next door to one another, but at least there’s a wall of brick and plaster in between.

“Meet me downstairs at eight,” he orders, watching as I slot my key card into the lock.